


Utterance

by xingmiandmore



Category: VIXX
Genre: Anxiety, Oops, Sad, author is projecting, sadboi hongbin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 12:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xingmiandmore/pseuds/xingmiandmore
Summary: When it's all laid out, these things tend to be one of two options; everything sounds far more dramatic that what they really are, or that the dam is simply breaking. A culmination of little things that want to be felt, unavoidable and overwhelming.This time, in the very thick of it, Hongbin isn't quite sure which one fits.





	Utterance

**Author's Note:**

> lol sorry hongbin  
> opened google docs to word vomit this into existence back in feb. there’s more i planned and wrote, hardly reached the title meaning at this point but hey. words aren't happening rn so idk i guess that's ironic?

The gentle heat spreads warmth into Hongbin’s hands where they press around the walls of his mug, fingers overlapping where they meet through the loop of it’s handle; abandoned in favour of seeking heat. It’s not so much the cold frigidity, rather the stiff, restlessness that simmers below the bleary haze of morning that he hopes to will away with the liquid comfort of earl grey on his tongue and a place to anchor his hands. The tea only loosens the coils in his stomach momentarily; just enough slack to get him through his morning of despondent mental preparation for what each day brings before they inevitably constrict again. 

 

Hongbin’s eyes flit aimlessly around his tidy kitchen where he is slumped on a stool at the breakfast bar. His latest distraction of Marie Kondo-esque decluttering has returned the apartment to its state of stylish minimalism that while aesthetically and personally satisfying, still hasn't quelled the remaining unsettlement stopping him from feeling at peace in what is usually his haven. It has however, sufficiently frustrated his typically patient roommate. 

 

With the new day comes the persistence of this month long internal tension. It has been a while since his last intermission from functionality and despite knowing it was approaching, he didn't anticipate the crashing wave to manifest in quite this way. Jittery hands, fumbling over papers and jerky laughter punctuating his fleeting comments about “Mondays, right?” One of many weak attempts to hide his fluttery heart despite a whole month being filled with more than just Mondays—in which case, his coworkers all pretend not to notice his bumbling. Hongbin is entirely aware that they are not buying what he's selling but their collective effort to go along with it for the sake of saving him some embarrassment are a slight relief, if a little pitying. 

 

He’s used to the solitude of his life. In fact more often than not, he welcomes it. But it seems this time it’s simply the sorry state of his lonesome heart that’s been getting to him these days. As unafraid to admit how natural it is for him—to be comfortable with the fact that he's just inherently a lonely creature—Hongbin is, once again, forced to face the fact that it's been this way for far too long. That maybe it's unhealthy to have so few people in his life of work, home, sleep, repeat. Surely he’s lacking  _ something _ if none of his relationships are able to move past perfectly polite acquaintances; and so as he looks up and sees the face reflecting in the glass of the oven door across from him, only one idea is distinguishable from the static. 

 

_ Is this what they see when they look at me? _

 

He drops his head to look into his mug only to find it empty. It takes a moment too long for Hongbin to recognise the hands grasping it as his own and he feels a strange, dissonant awareness of his limbs. They are all suddenly there in the forefront of his mind. He can control each of their movements, feel the sensations and yet none of it feels his own. His head is filling again with tar. Unwelcomingly heavy with white noise and incapable of substance. Any cohesive thought he may have had dissolves and dissipates in the lava-like flow of thickness and Hongbin is left simply trying to breathe past the weight pressing down strongly on his chest. It is a new day indeed.


End file.
